Honey and Salt
by angelaumbrello
Summary: CatherineSofia FEMSLASH All it took was two words from Catherine to change two lives.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Honey and Salt.

Part one: Honey

Chapter 1/5

Author: au

E-mail: for safety PG-13

Show:CSI

Couple: Catherine/Sofia

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

Spoiler warning: N/A

Archive: Permission granted, just tell me.

Summary: All it took was two words from Catherine and two worlds are changed forever.

A/N: This story takes place between the team and the end of season 5. This is part one entitled Honey, the 2nd part will be call Salt. If you like the story, feel free to post feedback, even if it's only 2 words.

Many thanks to Debbie for the beta and her patience.

"_Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future." (Paul Boese)._

Catherine's staring at me – again.

She does that every once in a while, when she thinks I don't notice, but I do. It's hard not to from three feet away, but even if we were across a crowded room, her bright, blue eyes would still bore a hole right through me.

"May I help you, Catherine?" I ask in a level voice. As I wait for a response, I allow my own blue eyes, the guilty pleasure of raking across her body for a couple of seconds. Suppressing a sigh of regret, I finally force myself to look Catherine in the face, where I steadily hold her gaze. There's no need to torment myself with might-have-beens and fantasies that simply, will not come to fruition. She has made it quite clear that she has no need for me, or anyone else for that matter. Her tone and attitude from earlier that evening are merely a reflection of her attitude since the day we met. I just wish I knew why she's so hostile to me; I don't remember ever doing anything to warrant this attitude of hers.

"I'm sorry," Catherine says quickly, so quickly in fact that it took a few seconds for my brain to fully register her words. And even then I'm not sure I heard right.

"Excuse me?"

She's staring at the contents of her locker, pretending that whatever is in there is the most fascinating thing in the universe. I can tell she is uncomfortable at having to swallow her pride, but to her credit she does not back down. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"No, you shouldn't have. I didn't do _anything _to deserve it."

"I know."

Placing the book I was holding on the bench, I take a seat beside Catherine. I know I'll be late for shift, but if I can make some kind of peace with her, it'll be worth it. "Did I do something wrong? Or do you just hate me on general principle?"

"No . . . I was just so pissed off at Gil for stepping in on my case! I bust my ass to finally make supervisor and he treats me like I'm _still _his underling!" She turns to me and stares me straight in the eye, for a brief second my knees turn to jelly. There is such intensity to her gaze that I am momentarily caught off guard. "I don't hate you."

"You don't?" I ask after a beat. "So you've been a bitch toward me all these years because . . . "

Catherine gives me an odd, unreadable look, before the walls of her defenses rise. "We're not in grammar school, why do you care whether I like you or not?"

"Because I don't enjoy this tension between us. Every time I walk into the room I can't tell whether you want to smack me or jump my bones."

"_What? What are you talking about?"_

"The way you look at me, the way you talk _at _me instead of _to _me." My voice softens as I admit, "Despite all that, believe it or not I still admire you."

"Then you need to get a new role model, or you need to start paying more attention to the rumors floating around this lab. I'm a hard woman, Sofia. You're better off looking elsewhere for someone to admire. Or better yet," she says with a bitter laugh, "just ask Sara, I'm sure she'll regale you with tales of how I allow my sexuality get me what I want."

"I don't put much stock in rumors Catherine, besides, Sara isn't exactly president of my fan club."

Catherine chuckles and some of the tension leaves her body. "Rumors are like postal insurance, the one time you don't buy it, is the one time that your package gets sent to outer Mongolia."

"Maybe, but what I meant was, I don't judge by what others have to say, true or not. I prefer to get to know the person myself, and then decide what _I _think of them. Now, I've only worked with you a few times through the years, but you are an impressive, unrelenting investigator and I don't see why we kick-ass women can't get along . . . maybe even be friends?" Catherine gives me a look filled with open suspicion. It's as if she's heard it before and is now waiting for me to announce some kind of ulterior motive. I can't help but wonder, how many people have broken her trust to make her so cynical, of even a simple offer of friendship. " Sara doesn't like me because I get along with Gil. She sees me as a threat and I don't know why, because I have no interest in him in _that _way. I just want to learn from him, because _he's the best_. And you . . . "

"Same as you, I'm not interested in Gil in _that _way either; we're friends – when it suits him. It's just that – Sara doesn't seem to like any woman that's friendly with Gil."

"Well, it's stupid!"

"I know. It's sad, the guys get along like brothers and yet, we women, who are suppose to be the more mature, can't even be in the same room without the claws coming out."

"Then why . . . "

"Look Sofia," she replies while getting to her feet. "I'm sure you're a really nice girl, but I've been mind-fucked by the best _and _the worst there are in Vegas, and, if there's one thing I've learned living in this town it's, look attainable but remain unavailable, because if you present yourself like a puppy wanting to be petted – you're just going to get squashed."

"And if there's one thing _I've _learned" I snap. "is that you get nowhere in this world if you don't take chances. And yes, that does mean I get squashed from time to time, but I'm not going to live my life behind a stone wall because someone might hurt me!" I mirror her actions and stand toe to toe with her.

"Are you calling me a _coward_?" she asks in a low voice.

"No, Catherine, I'm not" I reply with a sigh. "I'm just saying, not everyone is going to hurt you. That maybe if you poked your head from over that wall of yours, you'd see that there are people, who genuinely care about you."

"Whatever," she mumbles before retaking her seat, she looks at me and for a brief second her eyes are wide and vulnerable."I've got third degree burns – and those are the kind that don't heal – at least not without leaving scars. I've found through the years, it's just easier to attack first, saves myself a lot of pain that way."

"Do you?" I ask gently, taking a seat beside her. "I would think you'd be awfully lonely."

Catherine shrugs her shoulder. "I'm used to it – mostly."

"You shouldn't have to be." I take a chance and run my hand down her cheek. She doesn't back away, or flinch at the close proximity of our bodies or at my physical contact, but her breathing becomes quicker, her nostrils flairs slightly. I finally start to understand why she's been so rough on me. It seems that the rumor mill may have actually gotten something right. I just wish I'd known sooner, would've saved us a lot of tension.

"Right . . . Look, I gotta go . . . " she mumbles. Pulling away she quickly gets up and closes her locker door. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she tries to make her escape, but I won't let her, not now that I know I actually have a chance with her. So I grab her hand and force her to look at me.

"Catherine, wait! I meant what I said – about being friends."

"Why?"

"Because . . ._ I don't know _. . . I think, you're beautiful and I want to get to know you." Catherine blushes a cute pink that makes me smile, but she accepts my compliment.

"So, now what?"

"It's up to you Catherine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want." I let go of her hand and reach into my pocket for a small pad of paper and pen. "This is both my cell phone and my private phone number – call me anytime. Okay?"

Taking the slip of paper she nods her head and sticks it into her pocket. Wordlessly she leaves the locker room and several seconds pass before I follow suit. I hope she calls me, because I know there something very promising between us. I know she felt it too.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

I notice Catherine's Denali between a cherry red convertible and a sweet looking Harley Davidson. Three days had pass since we buried the hatchet and I gave her my phone numbers. She hadn't called me once during that time and while I'm loathed to seem as if I am rushing her, I heard through the grapevine what her case was. A baby, dead and abandoned was found in a dumpster. One does't need to be a mother to be disturbed by a case like this and yet I know from working in the past with other CSIs that are parents, that a case like this, hits them 10 times harder. Worst, Catherine had to work the case alone. With that thought, it takes less than two seconds for me to make my decision.

Before I lose my nerve, I park my truck next to the Harley and quickly make my way inside the diner. Bells jingle to announce my entrance and I immediately look to the corner booth, knowing full well that's where she'll be. And I'm right. She has her back to me, but I would recognize her anywhere. I can tell her head is bent and that by sitting as close to the wall as she can, she is trying to make herself seem as small as possible. After getting myself a cup of coffee I slowly walk to her booth.

"Hey, Catherine."

For a quick second she looks at me in shock, before turning her attention back to her half empty coffee mug. Her knuckles are white from clutching it so tightly.

"Mind if I take as seat?"

"If I said yes, I do mind. What would you do?"

"I'd go home."

Catherine looks up me with a disbelieving expression. "Just like that. You wouldn't force me to talk about the case? You wouldn't tell me it'd make me feel better? You wouldn't ask why I haven't called?"

"No, no and no. I don't force people into doing things they are uncomfortable with. I find that if someone comes to you it's . . . more satisfying for both parties. So, if you want to talk, then talk."

I practically see the wheels in her head turn as she processes this bit of information, most likely debating whether or not to take me up on my offer – whether or not she believes me. She stares at me for nearly a minute before she points to the seat across from her. "You might as well sit and finish your coffee."

"Thank you," I reply as I take my seat. "I heard bits and pieces from the lab techies . . . "

"I thought you weren't going to make me talk about it?"

"I'm not. I'm just making conversation. You know, you could have called me to come in early. It's not like I have a life outside the lab."

Catherine gives a bitter laugh before lifting her face to meet mines. She looks tired and worn with red-rimed, haunted eyes and bags that are visible even through her make-up, but she's still beautiful to me.

"I just want to go home and crawl into bed, forget this whole case – this whole day."

"Then why aren't you at home?"

"I can't – I know I won't be able to sleep. I keep seeing that little body, looking like a broken doll – not even one day old . . . I . . . just . . . " Tears gather at the corners of her eyes but they refuse to fall, afraid perhaps, of making their mistress seem weak and inferior? "I'm sorry," she mumbles. Getting up she fumbles for a few singles and hurriedly leaves the diner. It doesn't take me long to recover from her abrupt leave-taking and follow suit. I catch up with her just outside her truck, her hand is shaking as she tries to get the door open.

"_Catherine_," I call out. She looks up at me for a second and then quickly turns her back to me. One second is all I need to see the anguish and sadness in her eyes. I go to her and stand as close as I can, I resist with all my might the desire to take her in my arms and hold her. I'm in a bit of a dilemma, I said I wouldn't force her into talking and I don't want to, but I'm finding it harder and harder to keep my word. It quite obvious that she needs to get this case off her chest before it eats her alive. "Catherine . . . ?" I repeat lamely, unsure of how to proceed.

"Not here." Her tone is terse, her posture rigid, as if she is using every bit of her strength to hold back the floodgates – and it's just a matter of time before they burst.

"Okay, where?"

"Your place."

I nod my head and lead her to my truck. The ride to my place is quiet, but tense. I spare several glances at her to make sure she is okay and my heart breaks to see her like this, like she's ready to break in two. Whatever happened to that baby must have been horrible to reduce a veteran CSI to such a state.

We reach my condo quickly enough and several minutes later finds us sitting on my couch, each of us with a drink in our hand as I wait patiently for her to start her story. And oh, what a story it is; rape, incest and plenty of abuse, both mental and physical. Everything you would expect from a movie airing on Lifetime, save for the happy ending. There's not going to be a happily ever after for the young woman who left her baby to die, thinking she was saving her daughter from a fate far, far worse and the sad thing is, she probably was.

Her story ends, our drinks finished, and silence descends on us. Catherine's face is a picture of twisted anguish. It has taken her nearly 10 minutes to get her twisted tale out, several times she had to stop to collect herself before she could continue. By the end her tears were wetting my blouse and I was holding her tightly, glad of the privacy my home offered, but at the same time not caring how it may look for two women to be hugging.

Several minutes pass in this fashion – her head on my shoulder and me rubbing her back gently. Soft snoring breaks the quiet, indicating that Catherine has fallen asleep. I stifle a laugh at how cute she sounds and carefully, slowly rearrange our bodies so that we'll be comfortable and put my feet up on the coffee table. In deep slumber her subconscious takes over as she seeks out the nearest warm body and snuggles close enough that not one centimeter of space separates us. I resign myself to the fact that I'll be stuck here in this position for at least a couple of hours and that most likely I'll end up with a wicked kink in my neck. But I don't mind, not one bit.


	3. Chapter 3

see chapter 1 for disclaimer's and a/n

Chapter 3.

I awake several hours later to the sun shining brightly in my face. It takes me several seconds to realize I'm still on the sofa, but not in the same position that I'd started in, when I first fell asleep. Somehow, I ended up on my back, with my head supported by a couple of throw pillows. A jacket placed across my chest as a makeshift blanket, told me that this was not done by some subconscious need of mine to get comfortable – but by Catherine, who was no longer resting in my arms.

A wave of disappointment tinged with frustration washes through me as I punch the sofa, hard. Foolish as it may be, I had high hopes that this encounter would be the beginning of something between us – something beyond friendship. That, when she allowed me to see her cry and to give her comfort, meant she trusted me. And yet, she ran first chance she got, and didn't even leave a note.

Throwing my jacket to the ground, I get up and make my way to the kitchen. My intention is to get a glass of water and then go to bed, where I can stew over this turn of events. Had I not been so wrapped up in my dour thoughts, I would have noticed the smell of French toast and coffee. I stop short, and stare in relief as I witness Catherine armed with a spatula, making a late lunch. She is humming a tuneless song as she goes about her business, completely oblivious to the fact that she has an audience. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and most of her make-up has been washed completely off, but she is still beautiful, even performing domesticated duties.

A full minute passes before she turns her head and notices me standing in the doorway. She glances at me quickly, before returning her full attention to the pan in front of her, and I'm not sure how to interpret her reaction, or the slight blush to her cheeks._ Is she embarrassed to be here?_

"Catherine? Are you okay?"I try to present myself as relaxed and comfortable, but I must admit, I have butterflies in my stomach.I don't want her to feel obliged to do anything if it makes her feel uncomfortable – no matter what I may wish for.

Catherine looks up at me again, and this time holds my gaze. "I'm fine. I . . .you don't mind? Do you?' she asks while pointing to the stove with the spatula.

"Cooking? No, please be my guest." I pause for a beat. "I thought you left."

"I almost did." Catherine says in a quiet voice. Her eyes stare intently at the French toast cooking in the pan before her, as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "But I couldn't. I got to the door, I opened it, but I couldn't walk through it."

"Oh?" I dumbly reply, not knowing what else to say. Not that it matters, I don't think Catherine heard me as she continues talking.

"I saw you on the couch. You looked so . . . you looked beautiful. The sun was in your hair and I thought what an asshole I'd be to abandon you. To leave without even a note . . . I couldn't do it." Catherine turns the stove off and places the last slice on the plate next to her, before looking up at me.

I am . . . stunned speechless. Whatever I thought she'd say, it was most definitely not that. My surprise must have been mistaken for something else, because I can practically see her face crumble. "God, I'm such an idiot! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I better go."

She tries to walk by me, but I grab her and hold her tightly. After several seconds I can feel her arms encircle me and we stand there for a good while, merely enjoying the warmth of each other.

"No, you're not an idiot, and I don't want you to go. You just caught me by surprise." I say with a chuckle. Glad that I'm able to get my brain working before it's too late. Pulling back slightly, we rest our foreheads together and stare into each other eyes. I wonder if she truly knows how beautiful she is? And I'm not talking about the physical beauty, which she has in spades, but the inner beauty, her strength and passion, which no amount of exercise, make-up or plastic surgery can grant.

I can feel a simmering heat starting in the pit of my stomach, growing in intensity with each passing second. I wouldn't be surprised, if she could hear my heart slamming in my chest. If I don't move away and quickly, I'll not be responsible for my actions, but I can't. She mesmerizes me, and before I know it, her lips are on mine in a kiss. All I can do is close my eyes and memorize how warm and soft she feels. If possible, our embrace becomes tighter and Catherine's tongue is most eagerly welcomed into my mouth. For several moments, we take turns exploring and tasting, until we are forced apart by the need to breathe.

"Wow," Catherine says after a few seconds and I concur. I don't think I have ever tasted anything as sweet as her mouth and if weren't for the promise I made myself, to not push things, I would have happily gone in for another kiss. Instead, I enjoy her flushed cheeks and elevated breathing, and as cliche as it may sound; knowing that I managed to get the ever cool and confident Catherine Willows hot and bothered, even momentarily, is a nice little boost to my ego.

"Yeah, wow." We both giggle, not sure what to do. This is an unexpected turn for the both of us – unexpected but certainly not unwelcome, at least not by me and judging by the look in Catherine's eyes, not by her.

But we needn't worry about what to do next, Catherine's phone takes care of that. Its insistent ringing broke through our moment, disintegrating the growing sexual tension between us. We release each other, reluctantly and while she answers her phone, I look on in disappointment. Whatever may have happened, will just have to wait, because five'll get you ten, that's someone from work, demanding her presence at some crime scene. It doesn't matter that she just got off from working a double, her shift is so short handed with only the 3 of them, that there is no such thing as a day off. I can hear her practically yelling at the person on the other side and I feel no pity for them as they receive a tongue lashing from her.

After a couple of minutes Catherine snaps her cell phone shut and I can tell by the tension in her arm that she is giving serious contemplation to throwing that offensive little device through the nearest wall. She doesn't though; instead she puts it away and fixes me with a piteous look. Some of her anger has melted into a frustrated acceptance that I am all too familiar with.

"I'm so sorry," she says with a sigh. "I have to go."

"Duty calls," I state, trying hard not to sound too disappointed as I walk to the living room to get my keys. "It's okay Catherine; there'll be plenty of time for us to get together." Now that I know that I have a shot with her, I am not going to let it pass me by, and yet despite my growing optimism, I can't help thinking that this delay may be for the best. I want to do this right and not be swept away in a moment of passion. Had her phone not rung, who knows where that kiss might have taken us – and there's nothing worse than regret to spoil the afterglow. I've been down that road a time or two before to know that it leads to nothing but heartbreak. Now, if I could just convince my libido to slow the hell down, I'd be all set.

The trip back to the diner, where Catherine's truck is parked, is quiet but not uneventful. As soon as we are settled into our seats, she immediately takes my hand into hers. Our fingers entwine as she rubs the back of my hand with her thumb – almost absentmindedly. I enjoy the feeling of warmth and closeness that emanates from such a simple, almost juvenile gesture. No words are spoken and yet the silence feels natural, like breathing. There is no need to fill the minutes with mindless chatter or to explain/apologize for our earlier kiss. We accept it and whatever else that may happen when the time is right.

The one time in my whole entire life when I wouldn't have minded a little traffic, is the one time there is hardly any. Our trip, therefore, is shorter than I would've liked it to be, though in truth a cross-country trip would be too short, if in the end I had give up Catherine's company. I park next to her truck and turn to her and smile.

Disentangling our hands, Catherine leans in and gives me a not so quick kiss on the lips. She asks, "I'll see you at work tonight?"

"Yeah."

"I'll meet you in the locker room." She doesn't wait for my answer before she slips out of my truck and makes her way to her own, she knows damn well that's where I'll be tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4.

I haven't felt this nervous since I kissed my first girl, _way _back in high school. Catherine has had time to let what happened sink in and I'm nervous that the first stirring of doubt may start to creep in. It's a hard thing to do, convincing someone who has third degree burns to trust again. A girl can only have her heart broken so many times before she decides it's not worth risking it, the potential for pain and betrayal is just too great.

I arrive at work early and quickly make my way to the locker room. No one stops me, or questions my motives for being there early. Either because they don't know me enough to strike up idle banter, which hurts more than I dare let on, or they figure, much like Gil and Sara, I too am a workaholic. I just hope to God that Greg doesn't follow in their footsteps too closely.

Stepping into the locker room, I see Catherine is the sole occupant. She doesn't give any indication that she knows I'm there and I take the rare opportunity to stare at her. Her hair is still in a ponytail, which shows off her long elegant neck, but somewhere along the way, she has managed to change clothes. Black is definitely her color – though I doubt any color would look bad on her.

Surprisingly relief washes over me as it dawns on me, that she is not wearing the same outfit as when she left my house. Which is a good thing, since this lab can be a lot like high school when it comes to gossip, and I'm certain that Catherine has had more than her share without me helping to author anymore.

"Are you going to stand there all night? Or are you going to come over here and say hello?"

So much for being sneaky, Catherine is starring at me as if she's known I was behind the first locker the whole time. A smile that seems to make her whole body shine like a star, spreads across her face. It does my heart good, as well as my ego, to know that I can cause such a display. It's a nice change of pace from, in the past, when she would stare at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. It's also much better than the looks I get from present day Sara who for some reason, considers me a threat to her precious Grissom.

"I was just admiring the view." I enter the room fully and make my way to her, leaning against the locker next to hers I give her my best smile.

"Really?" Her voice lowers as she leans in and whispers in my ear, a wave of shivers I couldn't hide if my life depended on it, runs up my spine. "See anything you like?"

I have to laugh, either that, or slam her against the wall and kiss her senselessly. She is a bold woman and normally I would love something like this open flirting, but this is neither the time nor place for this.

"What's so funny?" she asks with an arched eyebrow.

"You do know that someone can walk in at any second? Don't you?"

Catherine pouts a little before closing her locker door and taking a seat on the bench behind her. "Aww, your no fun."

I sit beside her. "I am too fun. I'm so much fun; clowns come to me for advice."

Catherine laughs for a few seconds before becoming serious. "You're not one of those women who're ashamed of being gay..."

" Bi – technically I'm bi." I interrupt quickly.

"Same here. I'm just saying that I dated someone like that and it turned into a nightmare. I know it sounds cold, but I don't want to go through that again. I like going out, and my family knows about me so I expect if this gets serious that you're going to meet them. Is that okay with you?"

Cupping her cheek, I force her to look me in the eye, hoping that no one comes in for the next couple of minutes. "I am not ashamed of what I am, not one bit. I just don't like the way some of the others talk about you behind your back. The things they say are cruel and I don't want to give them any more grist for the wheel. It would hurt too much to know I caused you any kind of pain. And when the time is right, I'd love to meet your family."

I can tell my words have caught her surprise, I think she was expecting me to back off; several times her mouth tries to form words only to fail. Eventually she whispers, "God, I could so fall in love with you."

"So fall Catherine, fall and I promise to catch you."

I swear to god, if that door hadn't opened we would be kissing right now – hell we would've been on our way to making love right there and then. To hell with any rumors, we would have given them a full show. Instead, we pull apart like we are on fire.

Greg, our intruder, comes bouncing in with large, oversized headphones on, which does not one damn thing to hinder our ability to hear exactly what's playing on his iPod. I toss a look of relief to Catherine; he wouldn't notice a freight train, never mind an intimate moment. She gives me the universal phone sign and mouths "Call me after shift." She then grabs her bag and leaves for home.

Catherine meets me at the door of her home. Before I can get a single word out her lips are on mine, demanding permission to deepen the kiss. Neither one of us cares one bit that we may be giving any passerby a show. Twelve hours is a long time to wait and neither of us is going to waste a single second. I can taste peppermint candy mixed with coffee and her own sweet, unique flavor that is slowly driving every rational thought out of my head.

For several moments we take turns exploring each other's mouth trying to remember to breathe so that this kiss can last as long as possible – or at least that is what I'm trying to do. Catherine on the other hand has another idea, an idea that drives the air right out of my lungs and forces me to break from her. Somehow, the little vixen has managed to unbutton my shirt and is now busily foundling my breasts. Even through my bra it's quite clear that my nipples are standing at attention and now that Catherine's mouth is free, she is making a beeline for it. Thin black lace does little to protect against a set of very determined teeth and an equally determined tongue.

Logic is officially on leave and all I can do is stand and moan my encouragement. Oh god, what must we look like to the neighbors? A couple of horny women, who can't even wait to close the door before they shag each other's brains out. Speaking of which, why am I letting her have all the fun? I said I wanted to allow Catherine to set the pace and if this is what she wants, who am I to argue?

"Catherine, sweetheart, stop for sec, " I reluctantly, but firmly push her away. "Are you sure about this?"

"You don't want to continue?" Catherine asks slightly disappointed. She's panting slightly, her eyes are fully dilated with arousal and her cheeks are flushed. She is a gorgeous woman and I will gladly suck every last drop of cum that comes out of her for the rest of my days – just not like this.

"I do Catherine, believe me it's taking every last bit of self control not to take you right here and now, but not in the hallway, not with the door wide open. I want to make love to you on a bed – or at least on the sofa." I kiss her gently on the forehead, then her eyelids, the tip of her nose and finally on her lips. I am quite shocked at my self control, though I can feel my insides quiver from desire. "I would rather we went on a proper date, but what I really want is for you to feel special."

Catherine nods her head; silently she shuts and locks the door before taking my hand and leading me to her bedroom. Once inside we resume kissing, but there is a difference, we are no longer trying to eat each other's faces. There is a gentleness that both surprises and delights me. It doesn't take long for the both us to be naked and as good as she feels pressed against me clothed, she feels even better with her flesh pressed against mine. Sparks of electricity seem to flow between the two of us and the lust grows as hands and mouths roam over previously unexplored skin. We topple into bed and let nature take its course.


	5. Chapter 5

see chapter 1 for disclaimer and a/n

Chapter 5.

I expected to meet her mother at some point in time, just not right now and especially not like _this_. I was thinking a nice family dinner, a little Chianti, not me naked in her daughter's bed trying to hide an equally naked Catherine, with nothing but a comforter to hide our modesty. Of course it could have been worse. She could have come home an hour earlier. The poor woman would really have gotten an eyeful – not to mention an earful.

All three of us are frozen in place and I can practically feel the earth rotate on its axis as the seconds tick by in agonizing slow-motion. Good lord, I thought _my _mother was imposing when she got angry! Those stormy blue eyes are trying to stare right through my head to Catherine, who is trying to make herself as small as possible in order to escape detection. It doesn't matter how old you are, if your mother gives you a certain "you fucked up" look, you are automatically reduced to a petulant five-year-old.

"Hello, my name is Sofia Curtis and I . . . " sound and look so lame, all those years in college and this is the best I can do? My hand is out for her to shake in a futile attempt to ease the tension among the three of us. All I manage to do is make an ass of myself. Catherine's mother stares at my hand and the bare arm it's attached to, like it was covered in maggots. Flinching slightly I pull my hand back under the covers and fight the urge to confess every misdeed I ever did in my life.

"Catherine get dressed, and get down to the kitchen, _now_." Catherine's mother mutters through gritted teeth, she then turns and leaves the room, slamming the door shut in her wake. We both sigh releasing the breath that I guess neither of knew we were holding.

"I'm sorry Sofia." Getting up, Catherine quickly dresses in a track suit and runs a brush through her hair. "If you want to sneak out while I get my ass reamed, I'd understand."

"Why are you sorry?" I ask confused. Did she already have regrets? She said her mother knew about her, but knowing and accepting are two different things.

"I feel as if I forced myself on you, that you wanted to go slow and once again my damn libido got away from me."

"Catherine, if I really and truly wanted to stop, I would have. The irony is, I was letting you set the pace. I didn't want you to think I was some horny jerk looking to score because I thought you were easy. I wanted to wine and dine you properly, but in the end, I think both our libidos got the best of us."

Coming over to my side of the bed, she takes a seat next to me. "No regrets?"

"Not a one," I say softly.

"You really mean everything you say, don't you?" She runs a hand through my hair and down my bare shoulder, all the while starring into my eyes. She wants to see the truth of my words, not just hear them.

"I do, but it's up to you; do you want to continue?"

"I do – " Catherine starts with a sigh.

"But?"

"Between our schedules and my family obligations, it's going to be tough. I can't just leave town for a night. Swing is already shorthanded as it is . . . if I had just one more person, even part time, I could actually get a night off every once in awhile."

"Don't worry, Catherine. You just leave everything up to me."

"Catherine Anne Willows, when I said _now_, I meant _now_!"

"Aww, shit," Catherine mutters. "I'd better get down there. The bathroom is behind me. I'll see you in a bit." She leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the lips before taking her leave to face her mother's wrath.

I sit in bed for a few more seconds, collecting my thoughts, and trying to calm my nerve. I hope her mother doesn't come down too hard on Catherine, after all she did not act alone, and we certainly did nothing wrong. True, Lindsey could have walked in, but it's a school day, otherwise I would have said something.

Getting up I dress and start to head downstairs, only to stop short at the landing; I can hear voices raised in anger and my curiosity gets the best of me. I know as soon as I make my presence known, they will stop talking and put on the false face of nothing's wrong, so I listen in.

"I did not break our deal."

"Then what the hell was that girl doing in your bed?"

"What do you think mom, needlepoint?"

"You know what I mean Catherine. Don't be a smart-ass."

"Fine," Catherine says with a frustrated sigh. "We made a deal, and I've stuck to it."

"So, you're serious about this girl? Because Lindsey has already been through too much without having to wade through more of your shit."

"Whatever, okay. I know what I'm doing."

"I hope you do Catherine. You're no spring chicken, one day your well is going to dry up and you're going to end up alone. You can't keep going through people like they're tissues."

"You're one to talk, how many men _and women _did you bring home while I was a kid? Too many for me to count, so don't you dare get on a high horse with me. At least I don't still moon over a man who cheats on you at every turn."

Before this turns into a full-fledged fight I quickly walk to the kitchen and make my presence known. I clear my throat, and two heads snap to attention. Catherine comes to me and we exchange a quick hug and kiss. I'm too self-conscious to fully enjoy her affections or to notice fully a certain amount of defiance in Catherine's greeting. My wary gaze falls on Catherine's mother as she stares at our display with an arched eyebrow and pursed lips. I can't tell what she's thinking. Does she approve? Disapprove? Does it matter?

Taking my hand, Catherine pulls me into the room and toward her mother. "This is my mother Lily Flynn."

I offer my hand to shake, and this time she takes it. She has a strong firm grip that reminds me a lot of my own mother. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I take it you work for the lab?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You might as well call me Lily." I nod my head in acknowledgment and Lily pauses for several beats. "You know she has a daughter, don't you?"

"I do."

"The women in our family are . . . hard," Lily confesses, "We seem to attract more than our fair share of emotional baggage. Whoever we become involved with has to have a strong back. Eddie wasn't strong, as a matter of fact he became one of our biggest pieces of baggage and we three still carry him on our shoulders. The bottom line is; are _you _strong enough for this family?"

"I think I am," I answer quietly, and then wanting to prove myself to this important woman in Catherine's life, I add with conviction, "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." I feel like I'm some knight taking a blood oath before I go out and slay a dragon.

Lily sighs, gets up from her seat and takes her leave. "We'll see about that." I can hear her footsteps as she walks up the stairs, leaving Catherine and I alone.

"What was that about?" I ask, confused.

Catherine gives a non-committed shrug. "Let's just say you're not the first person to ride in on a white horse, wanting to rescue me."

"Well, I plan to be the last."

Catherine smiles at me, wraps her arms around me and leans her head on my shoulder. I mirror her moves, except I rest my head on the top of her head. Together we sway slightly to an invisible song that only we can hear. "I hope you're right Sofia, I hope you are the last one."

_**TBC...?**_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

It takes some effort, not to mention blackmail but in the end, I'm able to do what Catherine wasn't; get Ecklie to hire an extra body to swing shift. I know, know, it sounds totally selfish of me to go through all this trouble just so I can take Catherine on proper dates but I don't care. I'll gladly move heaven and earth to be with her.

The good thing about being someone's right hand is that you know all sorts of dirty and embarrassing things in which to blackmail them. I'm certain Catherine has a long list of things that Gil does not want out in the open. On the other hand, _why, why, why_, did Ecklie have to hire _her_?

His bastard senses must have tingled the moment she stepped into his office, because he hired her right on the spot.

Her name is Claudette King and if you haven't guessed it, she's my ex. And no, we didn't split on amicable terms, more like 'two alley-cats in a potato sack' terms – lots of fighting, lots of ugliness. At 5'9", with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, piercing grey eyes and a rail thin body; she either belongs on a runway or a street corner. She can charm the scales off of a snake and manipulate the white off of rice and what's more, she is fully aware of her 'talents'.

I gave her three years of my life, three years that I'll never see again and she gave me nothing, nothing but heartache. Catherine's not the only one who's suffered from third degree burns. Claudette treated me like a rented mule. With no regards to my feelings, she had God knows how many people on the side, then had the audacity to blame it on me.

_This _is the woman who's now working under Catherine and I can't help but feel the bile rise in the back of my throat. I know it's irrational to feel this way but, old resentments are hard to shake once they've been reawakened. Scars, that I thought were healed and forgotten, suddenly feel raw and new.

In the two weeks she's been here, my distrust of her hasn't diminished one bit and I hate myself for it. I trust Catherine and that should be the end of it. It's Claudette I don't trust and knowing the two of them are working together, is enough to bring out an ugliness in me that I abhor.

I need to talk to Catherine, but I'm ashamed, and I don't know why.

"Sofia? Earth to Sofia?" It's Catherine and she's waving her hand in front of my face trying to draw my attention from my locker onto her. Over the last two weeks we have made a tradition of meeting in the locker-room between shifts. It's a way for her to unwind after a case and for me to start the night on a high note. If one, or both of us, is out in the field, we slip notes into the other's locker. And let's just say, that there's been a time or two when I've had to explain away a blush due to graphic content of some of Catherine's notes.

"Sorry," I quickly mumble.

"Are you okay? You seem out of it. As a matter of fact you've been out of it for a while."

So much for hiding my emotions from Catherine. I should have known she'd catch on that something was up, but I'm not prepared to tell her, yet. "It's nothing."

"Don't give me that line. I know something's bothering you. Is it me? Gil? Sara? . . . Hodges?"

"Never you," I say. "It's not anyone on graveyard either. It's . . . "

"Say nothing and I smack you." I believe she would too.

"I was going to say, it's not something I want to talk about in the middle of the locker room where anyone can walk in."

"Oh. All right, I'll let you drop it – for now," Catherine murmurs. Then a smile lights her face as she takes on a teasing tone. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going Monday night?"

"No, it's a surprise, like I said the other nine times you asked me." I'm glad she didn't press further and the fact that she is looking forward to our first date as much as I am alleviates some of my nervousness.

"What am I supposed to wear if you won't even give me a clue?" She gives me an exaggerated pout and I'm tempted to take her lower lip in my mouth and suck it for all it's worth. Only the fact that we are in the lab keeps me from carrying out my desire.

"Don't wear anything but a smile," I whisper very quietly in her ear. "It'll save me time when it's time for dessert." I pull away to observe Catherine's reaction. Her eyes are slightly dilated and she has her 'come hither' smile on.

"So, you think you're going to get lucky or something?"

"I know I'm going to get lucky."

Catherine pecks me on the cheek and starts for the door. "We'll see," she says, but I know she's joking – we both do. It's been two weeks since that day we made love in her house. Between cases and family obligations, we've been unable to replicate that day. Monday will be our first 'official date' and I've planned everything to a 'T'. A whole night for just the two of us and I don't plan on wasting one minute of it.

"Ahem."

_Shit_, someone was here and I recognize that voice all too well. "Claudette, you might as well come out," I call. Catherine's gone and I already miss her calming presence.

She does, making her way from her hiding spot in the back to take a spot three feet from in front of me. "So, that's your new girlfriend, I hear half the lab's done her. I wonder when it's going to be my turn."

Refusing to take the bait, I answer quietly, "Never, if I have any thing to say about it." I know what she's trying to do. She just wants to get a rise out of me, trying to see how long it will take for me to lose my cool and do something stupid.

"Aww, c'mon, not even one night? Are you afraid if she slept with a real woman, she'd drop you like a hot potato?"

If this were a cartoon, I'm certain that steam would be coming from out of my ears. Once again I wonder what the hell I saw in her. How could I have been so blinded by love to not see what a complete and utter bitch she is; that this _woman _is incapable of loving anyone else but herself. Her sole motivation in life is greed and sex. I just wish it hadn't taken me three years to figure all that out. "Catherine is more woman than you'll ever be on your best day."

"Really? Well, that just makes me want her even more."

"Don't even think it."

"What? I don't see your name tattooed anywhere on her and I saw her in the shower."

That knocked some of the wind out of my sails. What the hell kind of game is she playing at? I'm stunned enough that when she closes the distance between us, I don't even notice until she starts whispering into my ear. "Don't worry, my dear. We haven't done anything – yet. But once I'm done with her, she'll forget all about you."

I push her roughly aside and storm my way out of the lab and into the parking lot. The cool desert air envelops me, helping me regain some of my composure. If I hadn't left, I would surely have driven Claudette through one of the lockers. I hate how she does to me; says just the right thing to piss me off, knowing full I won't do anything in a public place.

I need to speak to Catherine, need to warn her about Claudette.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

I kiss her, tattooing every inch of her body, mine, mine, mine. Catherine's sighs of contentment are punctured by moans of pleasure. I wonder if she can sense my desperation, my anguish or is she so caught up in what she's feeling to notice anything amiss, that 100 of my mind is not solely in the bedroom with her. That a part of it, is restlessly tossing over Claudette's presence. Can she pick up the possessiveness I feel when she arches her back, trying to force her self deeper into my mouth, as she comes with a sound somewhere between a growl and a roar? Can she sense the fear I feel, as I crawl over her now prone body and place wet, sticky kisses along her jaw line and mouth?

She returns my kisses for several seconds before reaching to the foot of the bed, and pulling the comforter over us. She snuggles into my chest, and I instantly wrap my arms around her tightly as Catherine idly strokes the side of my breast. No words are spoken, this time is meant to be for enjoying the other's company as we wait for both our breathing, and heartbeat to return to their respective resting rates.

"Sofia?" Catherine asks after nearly five minutes of silence. Her voice is relaxed, but with an undercurrent of determination. Unconsciously, my body tenses slightly. "Sofia, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" I say a little too quickly. Helen Keller herself could tell I just lied, very badly, through my teeth.

The stroking stops. Catherine lifts her head from my chest and repositions herself so she can look me in the eyes. "You were quite rough down there, I think you may have left a hickey or two. Not to mention, you've been a little distance at work these last couple of days. I was surprised when you invited me to your house."

"I'm sorry," I say lamely.

"No, you're not. Something is bothering you, something big and ugly and it's making you back away." She pauses for a beat. "You do know that you can talk to me, don't you?"

I'm stunned, but not surprised at how easily Catherine figured that something's bothering me. "I do know. And you're right. It's something big and ugly."

"Well, I know it's not me then," Catherine says, trying to alleviate the mood a bit. "And I know it's not a case, or you would've told me right away, same if it were someone from graveyard. The only thing I could come up with, the only thing that's changed recently, is the addition of Claudette."

My body stiffening at the mere mention of her name is all the confirmation she needs. I feel ashamed at my reaction, and try to pull away, I don't want to see the look on Catherine's face. But, much to my chagrin, she is having none of that, and forces me to continue looking her in the eye. One brow is raised as she waits for a verbal affirmation to go along with the physical one.

"You're right," I say. Suddenly I feel as if I'm naked in both the literal, and physical sense of the word.

Picking up on my discomfort, Catherine hurriedly gets out of bed and goes to my closet where two robes are brought out. One goes to me, and the second, she puts on. Despite the discomfort I feel at the up coming conversation, inwardly a part of me smiles at how quickly and easily Catherine has learned the layout of my home. Not to mention, how easily she figured out what was bothering me.

We both sit Indian-style on the bed, Catherine takes one of my hands between hers and forces me to look at her. "Talk to me Sofia," she commands. "I don't read minds, what is it about her that bothers you?"

I sigh deeply before answering, "We were involved. No, that's not it . . . we were more or less married – not legally, but we lived together, and we did everything a married couple did including talk about having children."

"Wow. So what happened?"

"She . . . she cheated on me." I barely choke out. I can feel my eyes burn, so I squeeze them shut tightly. A lump forms in my throat as the memory comes unbiden to my mind. One of Catherine's hands reaches up and strokes my cheek as she coos platitudes softly in my ear. I never told anyone this, not even my mother. I was too ashamed, too filled with self blame; I still am. "I caught her with other women in _our _bed."

"_Women_?" Catherine asks in surprise.

"Two of them, I think they were twins."

"Does it matter?"

"No, it doesn't matter, I remember though, seeing two pairs of blue eyes starring at me like I was an intruder in my _own _home Then _she _comes in from the bathroom, you'd think she'd have the decency to pretend to be embarrassed. Instead she looked square in the eyes and blamed everything on me – told me point blank that _I _drove her to having an affair. I didn't say anything. I was too shocked, so I just left, and went to a hotel."

"Jesus, Sofia," Catherine mutters. She gathers me in her arms and holds me tightly if not awkwardly to her chest. I can hear her heartbeat beat strongly in my ear. I'm glad I finally told someone, it's been nibbling at my self-esteem for far too long. "It's not your fault – not one bit. Eddie was like that, he thought the whole world revolved around him, and his ego. When I didn't properly stoke it, he thought that gave him licence to not only cheat on me but to blame me as well."

"It still hurts, doesn't it? Even after all these years."

"Yeah, it does," Catherine agrees in a low voice. "And you'll always have the scars, but it's like you said; You can't live your whole life behind a brick wall because there might be someone out there that cares about you. Who . . . loves you."

"Catherine?" I raise my head from her chest in surprise, could she mean what I think she does? "What . . . when . . . ?"

"Sofia, you are my heart. I don't know when it happened but I love you, not Claudette, not anyone else. And I would _never _cheat on you."

"I love you too," I say smiling. "But, Claudette is dangerous, she all but told me she wants you." Leave it to me to ruin a beautiful moment, a moment I have been waiting for since the first time I set eyes on her. Yet, if I want to move on, really and truly move on, I need to warn Catherine of what she is capable of.

"Did she?" Catherine asks, with a dangerous edge to her voice. "I haven't worked with her in a couple of days and she hasn't tried anything, but if she does . . . I'll trade her to day shift, or maybe I'll trade her to graveyard, set her lose on Gil and Sara."

"_Hey_! I happen to work graveyard, you can't trade her for me cuz we're dating, so I'd be stuck with her as well."

"True, though it would have been funny setting her lose on those two, if what you say about her true."

"Oh, it is Catherine. She is a heartless bitch, and she hasn't changed a bit."

Catherine's mirth disappears. "Sofia . . . you know I can't just get rid of her without just cause. You'll just have to trust me."

"I do. I just want you to be careful, you can't let your guard down, not even for a second."

"I won't Sofia, I promise." To seal the promise, she brings me closer and gently kisses my lips. It doesn't take long for her to deepen it, and shortly after, we are both swapping messy, wet, and oh so sweet kisses. Her hand reaches down under my robe, and I'm quick to mirror her move. When we pull apart, slightly out of breath Catherine deftly removes my robe and tosses it to the side. Hers quickly joins it on the floor. "No more talking," she orders and I have no problem complying. Claudette can go to hell as far as I'm concerned, Catherine loves me and that's all I need right now.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: The quote at the end is from _The Mourning Wife _by William Congreve.**

**Chapter 8.**

Catherine has a nice office. It's at least twice as big as the cubbyhole she had when she was merely a second-in-command. But unlike Gil whose office is filled with odd, and slightly unnerving brick-a-brac, hers is tastefully done in a professional manner. Photos of her family and friends share room with her framed college diploma and yes, even a picture of us up there. Like I said before, she is a bold woman, though in context it does simply look as if we are friends posing for the camera.

I'm here at Catherine's invitation, and right now we're sitting at her desk opposite to each other with piles of files big enough to choke a horse with. Catherine's shift officially ended an hour ago, but once again unlike Gil she prefers not to let her paperwork grow until it takes over her whole office. I hate and loathe paperwork as much as any other CSI, possibly more, but at least it's quiet here, and the company is far more pleasant.

"So . . . " Catherine says, breaking both the silence and my train of thought, "I heard an interesting rumor today." There's amusement in her voice, and when I look up I see a Cheshire cat smile slowly spread across her face.

"What rumor?" I ask, not bothering hiding my confusion. I never thought of her as much of a gossiper. But I guess you have to wile away the hours of processing somehow.

"Well, I was hoping you could fill me in, since _it is_ about you," Catherine says. I'm still confused and I still don't bother hiding it. She sighs before leaning back in her seat. "You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Sorry, but I don't."

"So, I guess it's not true that you and Gil are having an affair," Catherine says with a mischief filled voice. I can tell she is barely able to keep from laughing. At least she has the good sense not to believe it.

"_What_?"

"Someone must have seen you two at the restaurant."

"_Jesus_, it's like I'm in high school again," I say, while rubbing a hand over my head in frustration. Catherine reaches over the desk and grabs it, forcing me to give her my undivided attention.

"Don't sweat it Sofia, it'll pass as soon as something juicier comes along, just like every other rumor. Imagine, you and Gil," she says with a laugh, "you're too much woman for him. Hell, sometimes you're too much woman for me."

"Right back at you, Catherine." I give her my best sexy smile, which she returns with interest and any residual anger quickly dissipates. I always find it increasingly difficult to hold on to any kind of negative emotion, especially when Catherine stares at me with those smoky blue eyes, and flashes me that flirty smile.

But, before we can continue any further, my phone rings. I'm torn between wanting to beat the other person for interrupting and being somewhat relieved for the break, the last thing we need is for the whole lab to find out about us before we're ready.

Brass is on the other end; he's at a 419 on the strip, and needs me there ASAP. I start to gather my things; I'll make a quick side trip to my desk and drop them off before heading to the crime scene.

"Leave them here," Catherine says as she digs through her top desk drawer. A key is produced and handed to me. "This is my spare, so don't lose it, at least until I can make another one, then you can keep it. Just in case I'm not here when you return, you can still use my office when you get back. I'm certain it'll be better than trying to find a quiet spot out _there_."

Slipping it on my key ring, I lean over the desk and plant a kiss firmly on her lips, before saying good-bye and taking my leave.

Hurriedly making my way through the lab and into the parking lot, I'm paying little attention to people around me, which proves to be a large mistake. The wind is nearly knocked out of me as my body is nearly slammed through my Tahoe. A very familiar voice rasps in my ear as I look to find the parking lot is nearly deserted. Only a couple of lonely trucks are present to bear witness to what is transpiring.

"What the hell did you tell Catherine?" Claudette says in a low threatening voice. I easily get out of her hold and push her none too gently away from me. She may have a height advantage, but that by no means translates into strength.

"I told her the truth. Why, did you make a play for her? Did she hurt your pride by saying no?" I don't need a verbal reply. The narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw is all the confirmation necessary. Claudette's used to getting what she wants when she wants, Catherine's refusal must have burned her good. Such a shame I didn't get to see it. I give her the biggest shit eating grin I can muster which, only serves to infuriate her even more. I should never have doubted Catherine's ability to sidestep her heavy-handed flirtations."Are you going to glower at me all night? Or can I go?"

"She refuses to work alone with me," Claudette continues, ignoring me. "I either work solo or she brings at least one of the guys with us."

"You are a level three; you don't need a babysitter to process a B&E, do you?" I state, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Of course not."

"Then I really don't see the problem, or why you think I did something to poison her mind against you. Catherine is a grown woman capable of making decisions on _who _she dates and _who _she takes to a crime scene." Taking out my key I turn my back to her, effectively dismissing her so that I can get going. I've already wasted enough time and if I don't get going, Brass is going to have kittens.

"This isn't over, Sofia. Not by along a shot."

Climbing into my Tahoe, I slam the door with a little more muscle than entirely necessary. "_It is _over, Claudette. It was over before it even began."

I don't allow her a retort as I peel out of the parking lot, and leaving her in a cloud of exhaust smoke. I should feel a certain amount of smugness for leaving her behind like that, and yet, a feeling of foreboding washes over me as her figure recedes in my rearview window. 'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned' – comes unbidden to mind and as a shiver runs up my spine.

She's right this isn't over, because there is no way she is going to let her ego be bruised like that and not retaliate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

In my brief tenure as a CSI, I have seen many disturbing, heartbreaking, and just plain gross sights. Human beings and animals in various stages of decomp, maggots and blowflies feasting on the flesh of some poor child, and of course, I've seen more than my fair share of blood and brain matter. Yet, not even on my first case did I feel the need to excuse myself, so I could vomit in some dark corner. Not once did I hesitate in performing my duties; that is until today.

Whoever said 'be careful of what you wish for, you may just get it,' knew what they were saying. Because, while there may have been many times that I wished Claudette would die, I didn't actually mean I wanted her dead. She is though, and I can't help but stare at her body laying in a bloody pile in some godforsaken alley. The coppery smell of her blood is in a losing battle with the intense odor of urine and fecal matter.

The bum, who was most likely just looking for a place to take a whizz, is being detained by a detective. He's trying to perform the near impossible task of both questioning the old man _and _holding his breathe at the same time. Even at 10 feet away, I can smell him quite clearly. A slight breeze caries his slurred voice as he asks about a reward forcing me to bite my tongue. I can't decide whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation. Most people who came knew her, would not think she was worth the time used to call 9-1-1.

my attention returns to the crime scene, and a sudden numbness comes over my mind like a thick fog, obscuring my senses so that I can no longer see or hear anything aside from my ex's body, and my own pounding heart. My hands start to shake slightly, causing my case to drop loudly to the ground as I stare intently at Claudette's body. My subconscious mind is doing its damnest to memorize every drop of blood splatter, every bruise and every cut. She looks more like ten miles of bad road and less like an unfaithful whore. And yet, her face is unharmed, the killer wanted to make sure there were no problems in identifying her. Like the placement of the body, it's another message.

"Sofia?" Sara calls out. It takes several moments for the fog to lift, and for me to focus on what's going on around me. I blink dumbly for a few seconds and my cheeks heat up as I realize to my dismay, that I'm the center of attention. The detective, Sara, and even the bum are staring at me confused. "Are you okay?"

"I, um . . . "

"Do you need to throw-up?" she asks in a low voice.

"No, I . . . just . . . I can't be here. I know her."

"We all do – _sorta_. She's from swing shift. We'll need to call Catherine at some point so she can inform her next of kin."

"No. I mean, I know her in a way that could make me a suspect in her murder. I had a personal connection with her. I can't be here." I say in a low voice. I don't like airing my dirty laundry to people I barely know, and what went down between Claudette and me was as dirty as you can get. I just hope that Sara doesn't try to dig the whole story out of me right here and now, because the last thing I need is for some 'lovely' homophobic epithets to be spray painted across my locker door because this detective can't keep his yap shut.

Sara looks at me oddly before my meaning sinks in. With a silent "oh" she pulls out her cell phone and calls Gil. I feel stupid, but this is proper protocol, not to mention I need to get the hell out of here.

A minute later, Sara returns her attention to me. "Grissom says there's a B&E at 121 Beatrix Ave, Harold's liquor. You can take that, and he'll come help me."

I nod my head in thanks, surprised at her generosity, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. I grab my kit and beat a hasty retreat to my truck, where I turn on the loudest music I can find and blast it at full volume. I don't want to think about what I saw, and I sure as hell don't want to try to sift through the jumbled emotions scattered throughout my brain.

Thankfully the traffic is light and I get to the crime scene within ten minutes. After a quick summary from the presiding detective, I begin the tedious job of fingerprinting the cash register and counter top. As I suspected there are a multitude of fingerprints, both full and partial and for a while I'm able top lose myself in evidence gathering.

Back in the truck, I once again turn the radio's volume up and allow the heavy metal playing to drown out any unwanted thoughts and emotions. I don't want to feel anything, and I shouldn't, Claudette hurt me like no other person, and I don't want to feel sympathy or remorse for her. I definitely don't want to remember, or even admit, that there was actually good times between us, that I actually loved her and thought I'd spend the rest of my life with her. No, I just want to finish this case and go home to Catherine. She's the one who owns the key to my heart, and she's the one I want walking by my side for as long as possible.

Two hours later finds me standing exhausted in front of Catherine's door. I feel as if I ran the Boston Marathon with a baby elephant on my back. Every muscle is sore and I can feel the beginnings of a headache start to spread. Even my eyelids feel as if they are being weighed down, and the muscles in my jaw feel sore from being clenched for so long. I barely get my hand up to knock on the door when it flies open to reveal Catherine. She's dressed for bed in white T-shirt and plaid boxer shorts, but she's awake and alert as she ushers me into her home and onto her couch.

"Sara called me," she starts without a preamble. "How ya holding up baby?" Her voice is softly soothing, and I allow my head to find the crook of her neck, where I'm able to smell her sweet scent. No perfume, no soap, just pure unadulterated Catherine. All my exhaustion disappears and all thoughts of Claudette disappear as well, as I place gentle kisses up her neck, along her jaw-line and finally right on her mouth. Pulling away she looks me in the eyes for several moments as if she is trying to read me, trying to figure out what has gotten into me. Quite frankly, I'd like to know myself, because all I want to do is lose myself in Catherine's touch, bury myself in her scent until I can no longer remember anything. Not even my own name. I want to forget this day ever happened, forget I ever knew a woman named Claudette King and just savor this moment.

"Catherine . . . I . . . "

"I understand Sofia. You don't need to explain a thing." And I don't, because even though I don't understand my own head, she does, maybe she'll explain it to me one day.

Getting off the couch she leads me to her bedroom, where she closes and locks the door. It isn't long before we are both naked and I'm devouring her sweet pink nipples. Catherine moans softly but does little else, this is for me she's saying. She is trusting me to set the pace and that almost does me in. I stop and try to pull away but she won't have any of that.

"Catherine . . . " I can't seem to form a thought, never mind speak clearly.

"Shhh, this is for you Sofia, no need to say a word."

And I don't, I lead her to bed and for the next several hours the only sounds that can be heard are our low moanings and sighs.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

Sara's waiting for me in the locker room when I come in for shift. Catherine's there too, she's gathering her things so she can go home. I greet them quickly, and go to my own locker. I'm not sure what's going on, but there's an odd tension to the air, that's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

"Sofia, I need to speak with you, privately," Sara says as she eyes Catherine wearily.

"Is it about Claudette?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level. Inside though, I can feel a couple of baby butterflies making their presence known. I can also feel the weight of Catherine's stare on my back.

"Yeah, that's why I want to speak with you – _alone_. I don't think you want your dirty laundry being aired in front of anyone."

"Whatever you say to me, you can say in front of Catherine."

Sara's slightly shocked at my statement, but to her credit she recovers quickly. "Uh, okay. Well, we went through Claudette's home and found a not so little black book with hundreds of names and what looks to be a rating system. Your name was in there."

"Geez," I mutter before sitting heavily on the bench behind.

"Yeah, there were a lot of people – men and women in there. So, lots of potential suspects, with possible motives. We're also looking through her old case files, just in case revenge may be a factor."

"I'd look for someone with someone with military connections," I suggest, which earns me a questioning look from Sara; a wordless why? "The position of the body. My uncle was in the army, when his kids misbehaved he'd make them perform the dying cockroach. He said it was how they punished soldiers. Based on the position, I'll bet good money that he or she was sending a message of what they think of her."

"And the fact that she was placed in an alley frequented by the homeless as a latrine, adds to it."

"Exactly . . . "

"Wait a minute, back up," Catherine interjects. "What exactly is the dying cockroach?"

"Well, it's hard to explain. But basically, you lie on your back. Then, you raise your arms and legs so that the shins and forearms are perpendicular to your torso. Rifles are placed across them and your head is forced off the ground as well. My uncle used baseball bats which are infinitely more difficult. You would have to hold that position for at least an hour, if you dropped any of the bats; you had to start all over again. At least that's what my uncle said. He may have exaggerated."

"Wow," Catherine whispers.

"Anyway," Sara continues. "I didn't think you'd want your name spread all over the lab, but I need to ask a few questions – off the record, of course."

"Of course," I reply. "Ask away. I have nothing to hide."

"We established TOD as Thursday between nine and 11 p.m. You were off, right?"

"I was on a date. We left at eight-ish and ate at Mario's on Trenton Street. Then we went to a club on Fremont, the Oasis. We didn't get home until after 3:00 a.m. and we went almost directly to bed. I didn't leave until almost one p.m. the next day."

"And did you leave your date's side at any time of the night for more than a few minutes?" I can practically see the wheels turning in Sara's head, as she mentally estimates how long it would take, to murder her, pose her, and make it back to the club.

"I wouldn't be much of a date if I wandered off for an hour or two," I reply cheekily.

"Right. And your date? Do they have a name?" she asks with a slightly defensive tone. "Just in case we need to contact them for verification," she adds on quickly, a little too quickly.

"No, unless this turns into a formal questioning, I can't name names. Reputations are at stake."

Not to mention law enforcement isn't exactly known for its open mindedness.

A chilly look passes over her face, but she nods her head, indicating acceptance. But I can tell her curiosity is killing her. She'd give her left hand to know who my date was. Does she think I have some design on winning Gil? Can she be that naive?

Catherine sighs behind me in exasperation. She saw the look in her eyes as well, or maybe she just knows Sara better, knows that she is not going to stop questioning until she finds the answer, one way or the other.

"Sara," Catherine whispers roughly. "She was with me! Now do you see why we don't want it announced over the intercom system?"

I have to stifle a laugh. Sara resembles a trout that's on dry land. Her mouth opens and closes several times as she tries to digest what she's just heard. She wasn't expecting this, probably never suspected either of us had a gay bone in our entire bodies. Even now she's reassessing us, hopefully coming to the conclusion that neither of us are a threat to her, or her crush on Gil.

"I, um, won't say anything . . . about you two. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sara," I reply, though I don't think she heard me. She's staring at Catherine, and for, once I can't read her expression at all. A minute passes in awkward silence before Sara takes her leave, throwing over her shoulder that Greg is waiting for me in the break room.

"What was that about?" Catherine asks, not bothering to hide her confusion. Turning to face her I shrug my shoulders. I'm as clueless as she is.

"Are you sure that was a wise move Catherine? Outing us to her?"

"I don't know. It's too late either way." She draws in a deep breath and releases it. "I'm sorry. I just got tired of her staring bullets at us because of some fictitious love triangle, or square, or whatever."

"She won't say anything?"

"No. She may be a lot of things but a squeal or a gossip? No way." Gathering her bags, she comes to where I sit and places a slender hand on my cheek. With the other she presses a key into the palm of my hand. "This is to the front door; you already know how to disarm the alarm system. I'll see you at home, right?"

I nod my head. "I'll see you at home," I repeat.

It wasn't until almost ten minutes into shift that it dawned on me; when did I start thinking of Catherine's house as my home?


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11.**

**AUTHOR NOTES:**

**This is the end of book 2: Salt, and the end of the story. **

**I know you all are sad, but I thought ending it would be better than dragging this on, and on, and on while I try to wake my muse from her coma. Besides, I can, and hopefully will, at some point come back and write sequels or companion pieces for it. When will that be? I don't know, the only thing I do know is that I will continue to use Carl Sandburg's poetry as titles, if not inspiration.**

**Thank you to everyone who took the time and read this story, especially those who reviewed. I know this isn't a popular pairing, so I really do appreciate anyone who gave this story a chance. And who knows, maybe I inspired someone.**

**I'd also like to say thank you to my wonderful, and very patient beta Debbie.**

_When did Catherine's house become my home? _I have asked myself that question repeatedly over the following days. I still don't have an answer. It's a terrifying thought, especially with memories of Claudette being forcibly dug up.

It's like Catherine said, third degree burns don't heal without leaving scars and I have some ugly ones. What she didn't mention, is the blame game that you play for years afterward. There is a voice in the back of your head that constantly asks, what if? What if, you were a better girlfriend? What if, you didn't work so many hours? What if, you were more sexually adventurous? What if, what if, what if . . . It makes you wonder what you did wrong, why you deserved to be betrayed. It is irrational, and if you don't watch out, it can be all consuming. Most of the time you blame yourself for being a failure, and that perceived failure colors future relationships.

The bottom line is, the hardest person to forgive is yourself. But, you have to, or you can get stuck. Catherine's seems to have forgiven herself, now it's my turn.

It took nearly a week, but we caught him; or rather Sara caught him. The motives were as old as time, jealousy and revenge. The dumb fool fell in love and no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't fall out of love. He went to her home and caught her with her pants down, literally, and he lost it. I can still remember eavesdropping on the interrogation. His confession was both heart wrenching and disturbing. And while I knew what it was like to fall in love and to be betrayed by Claudette, I also knew, it wasn't worth losing my freedom, my life, to get back at her.

Ultimately, I can't say that I'm surprised; live by the sword, die by the sword, right? I know that sounds cold, and I'm by no means saying she deserved it, but if you knew her like I did . . . you wouldn't have been surprised either.

The funeral is small, with less than a dozen people milling around. Most of the attendees are lab personnel, paying last respects, a few family members and perhaps a few who are like myself, just trying to find some closure. Catherine's here, as both Claudette's boss offering condolences to her mother, and as company to me. I think, no I know, I would've chickened out if she weren't here, and I need this. I need to say goodbye, and I need to find forgiveness for both her and myself, because for all my talk of not letting the past interfere with the future, I can still feel her presence, her ghost, hovering over my head like a black cloud. I don't want that, what I have with Catherine is too precious to me.

There's another reason why I would've chickened out, and she's making a bee-line straight toward us; Rosalind King, Claudette's mother and one of the sweetest human beings you could ever want to meet. Once the pain of betrayal lessened a bit, I think I was more upset that I wouldn't be able to spend time with her, than I was with the fact her daughter had cheated on me. Mrs. King is the type of person that you would give your right arm to have as a mother. It never bothered her one bit that her daughter was bi, unlike my own mother, (but that's another story) and she welcomed me into the family at first sight. We hit it off right away, and she was like a second mother to me, I'm certain I gained at least 15 pounds on her cooking while I dated Claudette, and lost 20 once we stopped.

Basically, she was everything that her daughter wasn't. I'm certain, it will go down in the history books as one of the great mysteries; how the hell does this sweet, kind woman give birth to a monster like Claudette?

"Sofia," she calls out when she's close enough. For some reason I feel embarrassed and ashamed, and I have no idea why. Claudette was the one who cheated, the one who destroyed our relationship by being stupid and greedy. Only Catherine's calming influence is keeping me from turning and hightailing it out of here. Rosalind ignores her and throws her arms around me in a bear hug. Her head barely reaches my shoulder and I am shocked at just how grey her hair has gotten in the two years since I last saw her; she's lost weight I think, and there seems to be a deep sadness that radiates like an aura from her. I can't help but return her hug. "I'm so glad you came, Sofia, I never thought I'd see you again."

"I'm sorry," I say lamely. "I just thought that . . . "

"I know, my dear," she interrupts as she pulls away. Pale, thin hands wipe away errant tears that have escaped. Once again, I'm struck at how much she has changed in the past two years, there are new wrinkles creased into her face, and one of her eyes was showing the milky whiteness of cataracts. "My daughter didn't do right by you. I still don't understand what I did wrong, I did my best, but I was alone, and it was hard."

"It's not your fault," I say. I glance over to Catherine and see her quickly look away, some of Rosalind's words hitting a little too close to home. "No one forced your daughter to do what she did, she had free will and she chose to lie and cheat."

"I know, I thought she'd changed when she brought you home. I thought she'd finally settled down, found someone who could keep her grounded."

"I'm sorry," I repeat, not sure what else to say, if possible I sound even lamer than before.

"Don't blame yourself." Once again she pulls me into a hug, and we stand there several minutes.

Forgiveness is a strange thing. I don't think many people really understand what it means. It's not about allowing yourself to be walked over like you're a doormat, it's about not letting the past hinder you from attaining a better future. Standing there, hugging Rosalind, I feel as if I am being absolved.

Catherine takes a step closer, as if sensing I need her, and places a hand on my lower back. "It's no one's fault," she says sagely. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries to both our ears easily. "You both did the best you could to love her unconditionally, she was the one who threw it away, she was the one who chose to betray the two of you. We'll never know why she did what she did, but you need to forgive yourself."

The other thing about forgiveness is that it's better to forgive yourself, but sometimes it's easier when someone else forgives you first. It's like a road being paved, Catherine and Rosalind helped paved that road and, because of that, I'm able to finally put Claudette to rest.

**End book 2**


End file.
